


Be All You Can Be

by scandalsavage



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blackmail, Dark Dick Grayson, Dubious Consent, Earth-3, Internalized Misogyny, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Power Dynamics, Restraints, Sexism, Sexual Coercion, Slade Wilson is President of the United States, Talon!Dick, With A Twist, but toward omegas, dick grayson is talon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Slade Wilson is the President of the United States. And in order to keep his hard-won position, he'll need to make a few unsavory compromises.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Be All You Can Be

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be some dark, fun smut and then it fucking decided it wanted to be something more. And apparently I'm just the writer and I don't actually have a say (also, I did, like, minimal editing. Sorry.)
> 
> **Please see the end note for a spoilery warning!!!**

The hair on Slade’s arm rises.

That’s the only warning he ever gets. It happens before his brain processes the all but unsensible, incalculably small displacement of air.

A fraction of a heartbeat is all he has to prepare himself for the long arms that wrap around his broad shoulders and the warm breath over his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Mr. President,” the all too familiar voice of liquid sin sing-songs, letting teeth Slade knows from personal experience are sharp and mean graze over his ear.

“That wasn’t funny the first 30 times,” Slade grumbles, shrugging out of the hold and turning to face the intruder and the rest of his bedroom. 

The window isn’t even open, the vent is still in place, and Slade would have seen the door, situated to his left, open if someone had tried to enter. 

He still can’t figure out how the bastard can so easily break into the fucking White House. 

“Well I think it’s funny. And that’s really what’s important.” The lean young man, dressed head to toe in black with what look like brass finishes but Slade knows are actually various shapes and sizes of sharp and deadly things, tilts his body to casually lean against the nearest post of the four poster bed. 

Talon still has his mask on, hiding his pretty, vicious blue eyes. All Slade can see is the smug, mocking curl of those perfect lips as the assassin watches him from behind blank white lenses. As usual, he can’t smell anything. Won’t be able to until the uniform with the scent masking tech woven into its fibers comes off. If Talon even decides to take it off this time. It depends on his mood. And how much crap Slade gives him. Slade hates everything about his _arrangement_ but Talon knows that not being able to smell him, makes it even worse.

Slade ignores him. “This is the third time this month,” he growls. “Our deal was for once a month.” 

The arrogant little shit just grins wider. “I’m altering the deal, pray I don’t alter any further.” 

Slade scowls. “I thought bloodthirsty _Owls_ were too busy slaughtering innocents and blackmailing presidents to watch cheesy sci-fi movies.”

Shrugging, the kid straightens. “It’s a classic.” Then his nostrils flare as he scents the air.

“You always smell so good,” Talon says with a sly drop in his voice. “I could just _eat_ you.”

“Our deal is once a month. You’ll have to wait eight weeks. Grab some take-out on your way back to that cesspool you call a city.”

Talon strikes like lightning. No, faster than lightning. Slade is no slouch. He has excellent training and at least a couple decades of experience on the kid. But he doesn’t doubt that Owlman has made every waking moment of Talon’s life one big training session. Even if he were really trying to win, Slade’s not sure he could beat any of the so-called Owls in a head on fight.

Sadly, he’ll never know for sure. Because sadly, the same reason Talon is able to sneak into the White House with impunity is the same reason Slade forces his own body to ignore it’s deep, primal instinct to fight in favor of submission.

Still, he drags the near-silent tussle out for a couple minutes, just long enough to get a couple good scratches and nips in. Talon won’t admit it, but he likes the fight too. Damn alpha posturing. Slade allows the assassin to pin him, facefirst, against the wall.

“You’re a smart man Mr. President,” Talon breathes against his neck, nuzzling his nose along the curve up to the source of his scent. “You know the deal was just to ease you into this; get you on board. You know I’m going to get what I want from you, whenever I want it.” 

He does. 

“Asshole,” Slade mutters and he feels Talon’s lips curl up and teeth against his skin. “If that’s what you want. I’m flexible.”

Unbidden, heat rushes through him, angry and raging and Slade snarls at that, throwing his head back to crack against Talon’s face. 

The bastard just laughs and dances away out of reach, giving Slade the space to turn around. He glares at the little shit, teeth bared even though he’s already submitted. The growl turns into his own smirk of satisfaction at the sight; he may have it a little worse but he’s not the only one bloodied.

And that’s going to have to be enough.

Talon grins, red smeared across his brilliant white teeth and wicked lips while Slade sighs and starts taking off his shirt. “Almost thought you were gonna make us wake up your daughter. Didn’t think you’d ever be interested in an audience or a threesome, but you got my hopes up there for a second.”

Before he has even registered the thought to move, Slade snarls again, teeth snapping, as he steps towards Talon. 

Right when he reaches the younger man’s space, he’s gone. The next thing Slade knows, the backs of his knees are kicked in and he crashes heavily to the floor. The bony caps of his knees take the full brunt of his weight and pain shoots up his thighs and jostles his spine. Never is he more intimately aware of his age as when Talon is around.

Fingers tipped with sharp metal points thread through his hair, scratching just this side of painful at his scalp. The other plays with the strap of his eye-patch as Talon moves back into his line of sight.

“There we go,” the kid purrs. Actually purrs; that low, deep, rumbling sound that alphas use to soothe their omegas, assure them that everything is alright. It has the opposite effect on Slade; makes him want to tear out the offending throat. “On your knees at your alpha’s feet. Right where a good omega belongs.”

Slade _hates_ it when Talon mentions it, when he feels the need to rub it in. Slade doesn’t need the reminder at how and why he’s in this situation. The situation is enough.

As far as Slade knows, Talon is the only one who has discovered his secret. He doesn’t know how the sneaky little fucker found out that the failed super soldier experiments Slade volunteered for back in his army days fundamentally changed him. He was supposed to get super strength and rapid healing, instead he became an omega. It was an unexpected side effect. Even the people working on the project didn’t know it had happened, everything was shut down so soon after. 

But somehow this brat found out. 

Omegas can’t be President. Good thing Slade’s birth certificate still says alpha. 

He bites back the instinctual urge to bite Talon’s fingers off and tries to settle in for what he knows is coming. 

That’s the deal.

Sex for silence.

And that’s even more insulting than the arrogance of the initial offer. That of all the things this bloodthirsty, serial killer could ask of the President of the United States—pardons, state secrets, pressuring competition, etc.—the only thing he wants, is Slade’s body.

“Go on,” Talon says when he’s back in front of Slade. The sharp brass point of a claw drags down the line of his jaw and curls under his chin, tilting his head up. “You know what to do, _sweetheart_.”

Yes. He does. He is, unfortunately, intimately familiar with this dance. 

Biting back a growl at the “sweetheart” comment that would only serve to prolong this encounter, Slade almost rips his shirt with how roughly he jerks it off his body. He pauses before reaching out to fumble with the hidden traps of Talon’s suit—a puzzle the assassin taught him how to solve, just for the lower half, just the area “of greatest interest to omegas”, as he’d been told—and allows himself a moment to soak in his usual fantasy of biting off the alpha’s cock and watching him shriek in agony. 

Talon’s fingers pet through his hair the whole time, almost affectionately. The motion firms into a hold as Slade wraps his lips around the head of the now exposed cock, determinedly ignoring the swell of musky scent tinged with a coppery tang and the way it makes his mouth water. 

The kid’s muscles unwind and he leans back against the post of the bed, letting his head tip back and an obnoxiously loud, wanton moan echo through the room. 

Slade pulls back immediately, as far as the grip in his hair will allow. 

“If you wake my daughter up, we’re done for the night,” Slade snaps at him.

And gets a sharp, dominating tug to his hair for his efforts.

“You better hope she’s a sound sleeper,” Talon croons, “because if she comes in here, she’s gonna join—”

Slade tries to jerk away, snarling, instinct overriding reason, making him give into the _need_ to fight. To protect his pup.

But Talon moves so fast. 

Before Slade blinks, he’s thrown against the bed, gut impacting the edge of the mattress hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. His arms are pulled to the small of his back while he gasps for breath, the cold kiss of steel pressing tightly into his wrists. Handcuffs to further immobilize him.

“What is Rose anyway?” Talon hums conversationally against his ear, body layered over Slade’s back as his suddenly bare hand deftly undoes Slade’s slacks. “Wait, don’t tell me. If she does come in, I want to be surprised. What’s worse to you? That I fuck her too, if she’s an omega? Or that I make her fuck you if she’s an alpha?”

Both “options” make Slade want to vomit. 

But the threat does the trick. Slade grinds his teeth together as Talon shoves his pants to his ankles and repositions, hips flush to Slade’s backside. 

That long, thick, alpha cock slides between the folds of Slade’s cunt and he cringes when he realizes his cursed body has further betrayed him.

Talon groans. “Fuck, you’re already so wet. Knew you liked me.”

Slade growls again and thrashes, trying to snap at Talon with his teeth.

The bastard just chuckles and moves one of his hands from Slade’s hip up to clasp over the back of his neck. Then he squeezes.

“There we go,” Talon says as Slade’s body goes slack and a gush of slick slides out, coating the hard, fat, length moving back and forth along his slit. “Just relax, baby. Let your alpha take care of you.”

Slade hates this. He despises that his body responds favorably to Talon’s ministrations. He loathes that with a quick, firm, squeeze to his neck, his biology will render him boneless and pliable. That no matter how much his right mind wants to, he can’t snarl and bite and tear, he can’t fight to protect himself or his pup.

The thick head of Talon’s cock snags at his entrance. The blackmailing piece of shit shifts his position so that more of his weight rests on Slade’s neck and somehow his muscles go even _more_ liquid. 

It’s almost like being paralyzed. Slade can’t even press his eyelids, already heavy over hazed out vision, closed all the way. It brings back memories best left in the past, flashes of being strapped to a table, drugged, as doctors cut into him, trying to make him _be all he can be_. 

His brain flinches, even if his body remains completely immobile, as Talon slides into him with a deep, possessive growl. 

Slade hates the way his body, so useless after the scruffing, manages to shudder and produce another thick slide of slick at the sound of a happy alpha. 

This is why he hates what he’s become. He remembers what it was like to be an alpha, to be at the top. He knows _now_ that he was always just as much a slave to his instincts, to his biology, as omegas are. But he didn’t _then_ and it wasn’t just that it was easy to pretend that omegas were somehow lesser than them, it was that the thought to the contrary never crossed his mind. He _hates_ the way he knows Talon is thinking of him right now. Like he’s just a warm cunt; made for fucking and growing pups.

It’s why no one can know he’s an omega. Not just because of these physical weaknesses that can be exploited. Not just because, while _Talon_ may only be interested in sex, what about some dictator who finds out all he has to do is scruff him? It’s not just the obvious. It’s because everything he’s accomplished as President will be thrown out. He’ll be locked up and all the progress he’s made will not only disappear but regress _decades_. 

He knows now that alphas have their weaknesses. It’s just that they’ve convinced themselves their weaknesses are actually strengths. That their hyper-aggression benefits them more than it undermines their efforts. That their confidence is really arrogance and blinds them obvious truths. 

But _christ,_ is it harder to work with those weaknesses when everyone around you thinks they’re strengths. It’s so _hard_ to make them realize.

Life was so much _easier_ as an alpha.

So yeah, in times like these, when Talon shows up, demanding what all alphas demand from omegas… Slade hates what he’s become. 

But he hates what he was more. 

He’ll do what he must to protect all that he’s accomplished. And until he can figure out how to get rid of the Syndicate, he’ll humor Talon. 

Maybe he can even find a way to use it to his advantage.

A particularly hard thrust jolts Slade’s thoughts back to the moment. He finds a little control has come back to him so he allows a small, seemingly reluctant moan past his teeth as Talon carves him open.

“Fuck,” the assassin growls and rams into him with several quick, powerful drives of his hips. His voice is strained and his breath comes in hot puffs over the nob at the base of Slade’s neck. The hand pinning him down by his neck stays put while the one at his hip starts to wander, trailing up his ribs and across the wide expanse of his shoulders, tracing the muscles. “I love this so much. You’re so fucking _big_. Everyone wants the delicate, dainty omegas… they— _nngh_ —don’t know what they’re missing.”

Talon’s teeth graze against the side of his throat, dangerously close to the scent gland Slade keeps carefully covered during the day.

An idea strikes him like lightning. 

The next time Talon slams into him, Slade presses back to meet it and moans “Alpha!,” much more… _enthusiastically_ than he actually feels. 

Talon grunts a choked off curse, weight lying even heavier atop Slade’s back as he puts all his strength into a final few, erratic thrusts. His knot goes from barely started to completely swollen in a heartbeat. Slade’s didn’t even know it was possible for it to happen that fast. 

He smirks into the sheet. 

The way Talon starts nuzzling at his neck is new. And promising. 

They lay there like that, the kid’s chest pressed to Slade’s back, his nose and lips running up and down the curve of Slade’s neck, for several long minutes, waiting out the alpha’s knot. 

Slade stays quiet, patiently waiting for Talon to break the silence. 

“That was amazing,” the assassin finally hums, still breathless, into his ear, still trying to scent him despite never removing that nifty piece of scent-masking tech that is his uniform. “That was the first time you’ve participated without my… encouragement.”

Talon’s lips curl into a lazy grin against the heated, sweat-slicked skin of Slade’s shoulder. “I really liked it.”

That’s not the only new tactic Slade is trying tonight. He doesn’t know how well this is going to work, he’s never tried it before. The downside to pretending you’re an alpha is that you don’t get to practice being an omega. 

Still, the kid seems to be responding to the soothing pheromones in Slade’s scent as he steadily pumps the smell of deeply-satisfied-omega into the room. Talon has always been tactile, quick to touch and cling. But never _cuddly_. Until now. 

“Uncuff me?” He asks, carefully keeping his voice breathy and soft, making sure the tone is _asking_ , not demanding. It feels so wrong coming from him; so _obviously_ fake, he’s positive the other man is going to laugh at his efforts. 

But the body on top of him freezes and he hears Talon’s breath catch. 

God, he feels so stupid and transparent and maybe he shouldn’t press his luck but his omega instincts are singing to him and he maybe he should listen… “Please, _alpha_ …”

A sharp intake of breath at his neck and the cuffs are gone. The weight behind him shifts off a little and that’ll be more than enough.

Slade moves quickly for a man his size but he still catches the way Talon’s lustful, hooded eyes go wide when he turns and tosses the kid onto the bed.

He savors the way they brighten in surprise as he follows, crawling on top of the young alpha and settling over his hips. Talon’s breathing goes shallow and quick with anticipation and he licks his lips as Slade _“accidentally”_ brushes his wet slit over the assassin’s soft, sensitive cock.

Slade grazes his teeth along Talon’s jaw, hooks a finger under the high collar of his suit, and pulls the fabric away from the skin. Intense arousal hits him in the face like a brick as the room floods with the scent of coffee and something metallic. 

He licks a stripe over Talon’s scent gland and the kid shudders under him. 

“You like it when I’m more involved?” He asks, pitching his voice low and rumbling which gets him another shiver.

“ _Yes._ ”

“Hmmm,” Slade purrs against his throat. “It would be so much easier to enjoy our time together if I wasn’t always so worried about others finding out. Stress is a major health concern for those holding high ranking offices.”

“I won’t tell. That’s the whole point—”

“I know _you_ won’t.” Slade allows, even though he definitely doesn’t believe it. He wouldn’t trust an Owl if they were the last people on Earth. “But there are always ways people can learn these things. You said I smell good…”

“You wear scent blockers—”

“And I’m very diligent about it.” He toys with Talon’s collar, focusing on sending out as much sated-but-concerned scent as possible. “But if there was a more efficient way… it would make these visits that much more relaxing for me.”

Talon is nuzzling at his throat again. Slade’s prepared for it when the alpha flips their positions again, pressing him into the mattress and rolling his hips to drag his quickly hardening cock against Slade’s dripping cunt. He’s prepared for the way those sharp teeth bite down over his scent gland, not hard enough to mark or claim. Just hard enough to show intent; to make them both gasp.

“The tech in my suit can be adapted for collared shirts,” Talon murmurs against Slade’s skin sounding almost drunk. “We use them for undercover work.”

Keeping his scent carefully controlled, Slade grins through the darkness at the ceiling. 

“Really?” He asks, as innocently as he dares. 

Talon nods against him, repositioning for another round. “I’ll get you some.”

Well. 

That was easy. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** Slade started life as one dynamic and the experiments he volunteered for in the Army had the unforeseen side effect of changing his dynamic. He spends a good chunk of the fic musing over what he has lost and gained as a result of that change, and how difficult it has been to pretend to be an alpha despite his dynamic.


End file.
